


I Didn't Know You Cared

by quesschyun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, F/M, Love Triangle, Mutual Pining, Not A Happy Ending, Reader is An Emotional Mess, Reader-Insert, Sam Is a Good Friend, So much angst, ambiguous timeline, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9830015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quesschyun/pseuds/quesschyun
Summary: Imagine you've been in love with Dean for years but don't believe he loves you back. Your close friendship with Sam takes a turn for the romantic, right when Dean decides to show back up in your life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, this fic came out of a prompt I came across on tumblr, plus a little bit of an idea I'd already had, and it sort of just formed itself into this. I have no idea if anyone will enjoy this super melodramtic angst-fest, but I figured hey why not post it? 
> 
> But seriously, be warned on all counts: first time writing reader!fic, total angst fest (with a side of making out), ridiculous love triangle things, and _NOT a happy ending_. Dean is brimming with self-loathing and Sam is a cinnamon roll, too good for this world.

_You:_

The motel room held two queen sized beds, but just barely. They were squished in there with a nightstand and a kitchenette and barely any room to move. The far wall had faded brown curtains and you didn't like them, but you'd seen worse. In fact, by the usual standards, this place wasn't too bad. It was a nice break from the bunker too, though you hadn't yet admitted that outloud. You all loved the bunker, but sometimes it was nice to see public and, you know, sunshine. 

You hit snooze for the last time on your phone's alarm clock and let out a tired moan. The latest hunt was over for you and Sam - Dean was off who-knows-where on a hunt of his own, being exceedingly cagey and absent, for the fifth month in a row - but it didn't make getting up any easier. Even knowing the two of you would be spending a few days in this town, relaxing, didn't make the covers less impossible to kick off. Though you  _were_ looking forward to the party put on by one of Sam's old Stanford buddies he'd reconnected with, Ethan. 

(Admittedly, some of your reluctance to get up was probably due to staying up until sometime after three, having drinks with Sam and Ethan, before Ethan finally retreated to back to his place via cab.)

You propped yourself up on your elbows, groaning. You were bleary, and could feel your hair was a bed-headed mess. 

“Ugh,” you said. You glanced at Sam, who was sitting up in the other bed, cross-legged and shirtless, looking all together too awake. “Why?” you asked no one, cursing the morning.  
  
Sam chuckled and got kind of a funny look on his face.  
  
“What?” you grumped.  
  
“Look, um, don’t take this the wrong way but…you look kind of…”  
  
_Miserable? Angry? Like crap?_ you thought, ready to retort to whatever he said next.  
  
“…hot right now. Like that.”  
  
You blinked. _Not what I was expecting._  You looked down at your tank top but it wasn’t see-through or anything, so you looked back Sam, confused. He laughed sheepishly. You knew he wasn’t actually hitting on you. You’d been sharing space for so long - was it really three and a half years now? - that he was pretty much a brother by now. Unless he’d caught feelings, which you weren’t going to even consider. Honestly, he was probably just screwing with you, as usual.   
  
“Shut up,” you grumbled and slid back down under the covers, turning your back to him, hoping to catch just a few more seconds of sleep before you absolutely _had_ to get up.

You ignored the sudden jumpy feeling in your gut as his words replayed in your head.

* * *

The day passed blissfully uneventfully - you nursed some bruises from the previous day's hunt, went for a walk, and curled up on the bed reading a book while Sam did stuff on his computer. It was comfortable, easy, normal - the way it always was with Sam. Bonus, neither of you were researching lore or racing against the clock to save lives. You wanted to call it a vacation, but naming it would probably jinx it, so instead you just thought of it as the calm before the inevitable-next-storm.

Ethan swung by in the evening with his buddy Joe, and then it was drinks and games until only midnight this time. Joe broke up the party early, needing to get home, so he and Ethan caught a cab together and headed away. You finished up your mixed drink and couldn't help wishing Dean were here - something you'd been doing pretty much non-stop since he left.

You and Sam didn't talk about it - there was nothing to talk about. Dean was busy and he made regular check-ins with Sam, and even swung by the bunker to hang out sometimes, though you had been out all three times. It almost felt personal, like he was aviding you, but Sam said that was stupid. Sam also said he wasn't worried about Dean being away, that Dean was just doing his own thing for a while, but to you it felt like he'd been doing his own thing  _a lot_ the past year and a half. It wouldn't have stung so much if you hadn't been stupidly in love with Dean from basically the first time you met him. 

Sam shot you a look when you accidentally let a sigh escape. Before he could guess any of your thoughts like he too often did, you stood up and yawned. 

"Bed for me too. Besides," you add with a wide smile. "We have to be in good shape for Ethan's party tomorrow."

"Your shape is pretty good already," Sam said with a laugh. And his voice was teasing, but it came out like he hadn't meant to say it. You stiffened and he laughed again, a little too forced. "So is mine, by the way, is what you should have said there." 

"Obviously," you throw back, with a laugh of your own. But there was some undercurrent there now that felt off, felt wrong, or worse, not wrong at all. You weren't sure if you were flirting or if he was, or if you were totally overthinking this, but Sam suddenly looked awkward and you turned away. 

You avoided looking at him when he headed to bed, shirtless as ever. Of course you were aware his body was toned and pretty great, but you hadn't really thought of him  _that_ way before. Now suddenly, you can't stop. You shoved your face into the pillow and will the thoughts and feelings away, for all the good it did. 

* * *

The next morning, you sluggishly tried to haul yourself to consciousness. You heard Ethan poke his head in asking if anyone wanted coffee and you mumbled out an affirmative reply into your pillow, glad for once for Sam's nerdy jogging habit. Ethan came by to jog with his pal while he was town, but they wanted breakfast and coffee and chatting first.

“Just give me a second,” you say.

After a few minutes, you tugged yourself to a sitting position with a heavy sigh – this time wearing a long-sleeved shirt over your tank, since last night had been weirdly chilly in the motel room. (It definitely had nothing to do with Sam's comment.)   
  
The room’s door shut and you realized, in the sudden immediate quiet, that Ethan had left to get coffees without you.  
  
“Oh, okaaay then,” you said irritatedly, staring at the door and crawling out of bed. “I’ll just stay here and make myself some tea.”  
  
From his bed, Sam laughed at your grouchiness and you shot him an exasperated look.  
  
“You heard me, you could’ve said something.” You slumped to the kitchenette and grabbed your travel mug, sticking it under the motel room’s knock-off Keurig.  
  
He shrugged, still laying down in the other queen bed. “You wouldn’t have been ready in time.”  
  
“I could’v tried,” you protested. He's right, though, and you both know it.  
  
He propped himself up on his elbows, all shirtless as usual, and nodded like he didn’t believe you for a second.  
  
“Shut up,” you said, but couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips anyways as you put tea into a filter.  
  
You cast another glance at him and found your stomach jumping again. He looked so _hot_ like that – shirtless, poking out of bed. And then you're over here, making tea. Like it was a Night After. Your cheeks flamed hot and you cleared your throat.  
  
“What?” he asked, his voice full of teasing. Normal.  
  
You shook your head. “Nothing.”  
  
“No, what?” he prodded, sitting fully up, and kicking the covers off. “Say it – I gotta get changed.” He grabbed the edge of his pajama bottoms and tugged them down, showing off his plaid boxers.  
  
“Sam, stop – I’m right here!” you said, aggravated and blushing all the more. “I’ll tell you in a sec, just – keep your clothes on.”  
  
“I gotta get changed,” he whined. He hooked his thumb at the edge of his boxers and threatened to pull them down too.  
  
“Ohmygosh, I’m literally – let me make my tea!” you half-laughed, half-yelled at him. “I don’t want to see that!”  
  
“Don’t you?” he joked, still as teasing as usual, but given your thoughts a few seconds ago, and the night before, you almost choked on air.  
  
“No!” you shouted, probably definitely way too hard and fast.  
  
This made him look at you funny again, and you could feel your cheeks heating up. You tossed the spoon in your hand on the counter with a loud clang.  
  
“Ohmygosh, just – get back into the bed for a second and I’ll tell you and then I’ll… like, bury my face somewhere so you can change, okay?”  
  
He grinned triumphantly and hopped into the bed, throwing the covers over himself.  
  
You walked to the end of the bed, crossed your arms over my chest, and leaned against the metal bedframe.  
  
“Like you were before,” you said, and gestured so that he raised himself on his elbows with the covers peeled to his waist.  
  
“Like this?”  
  
You nodded, then let out a huff. _Just get it over with._ “You know how yesterday, you said I looked…good…like that?”  
  
His face got a notch more serious. “Yeah?”  
  
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but um…you, too.” You swallowed and your heart thumped in your ears. You fiddled with your shirt and wanted Sam to say something, but you couldn’t decide if you wanted him to laugh it off and tease you as usual, or say something sexy and serious. Your breath quickened and you suddenly _really_ wanted to hear the latter.

This was flirting - this was purposefully setting your foot on the other side of the friendship line. This was…you didn't know what this was.  
  
“It’s a…good position,” Sam said carefully, like he had no idea how you wanted him to react, but he knew exactly how _he_ wanted to react.  
  
You swallowed again, your cheeks flaming. _Position_. Unbidden images of Sam and you in _positions_ jumped to your brain. He looked like he might’ve been having the same thoughts by the way he was staring at you and your heart pounded under the sudden heat in his gaze.  
  
And then the moment was broken, when Ethan poked his head in the door, announcing he was back.  
  
You rushed back to the kitchenette and your tea, glad to escape how confused you felt about Sam, even for a second.  
  
“Welcome back,” you said, your back to the both of them as your strained your tea.  
  
“Double double for me, single with sugar for you, and triple red eye for the espresso hound.” Ethan ambled up to the counter and spread out the coffees.  
  
You heard Sam leave the room to go the bathroom and you exhaled in relief.  
  
“You okay?” asked Ethan, grabbing his coffee from the drink tray and shooting you a curious look.  
  
“Hmm? Ya. Fine.” I pushed on a smile and snagged my tea, getting out of his way. “Thanks for the coffee.”

* * *

Things still seemed weird as you got ready for Ethan's party. You were hyper aware of Sam's every movement through the motel room and chose to wear jeans and a nice tee rather than a dress. Somehow the idea of Sam looking at your legs was suddenly beyond unnerving, which was amazingly stupid. He'd patched you up more times than Dean had, and you'd even gone swimming together, for frick's sake. Even so, you downplayed your makeup more than usual for a party and kept your hair simply styled. 

_It's a casual thing anyways_ , you reassured yourself.  _No need to get fancy_. 

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror and wondered what Dean would see if he bothered to show up. You frowned and shoved the thought away. No need to be thinking about Dean when you were having a complete and total crisis about Sam.

Sam drove the rental car to Ethan's house, and you didn't speak much on the way there. Once, you had your hand on the console and Sam's hand brushed against it. You both jumped as though scalded, and then he quickly turned the radio up while you stared out the window. At Ethan's, you passed him the bottle of wine you two brought, and swiftly joined the party-goers already munching and gaming and drinking and laughing.

Soon enough, Ethan was a few beers in and leading a game of cards at the dining room table. You floated through the kitchen where people mixed drinks and congregated by the food, then moved on to the living room where most people were sitting or standing and chatting. The house, and the rooms, weren't huge, making every place cramped with people, but it wasn't unbearably crowded. The home was filled with fun and talking, casual drinks and good tunes, and games and snacks. While normally not big on parties, you liked this one - the people were friendly and easy to talk to, and you moved around, chatting up this person or that person and feeling strangely normal, given that you were literally in the business of hunting supernatural creatures on a regular basis.

The only problem was Sam. Almost everywhere you went, you could feel him watching you. Your cheeks were hot, constantly, under his heated gaze. You avoided looking back at him, but when you could sense his attention was on something else, you'd chance a peek. Every time you caught yourself doing it, you were checking him out. Head to toe.

The way his neck curved. His smile. His hazel-green eyes. How tall he was. How good he made a plaid button up over a gray tee and some dark jeans look. How his hands gripped his glass and what they might be like… not on his glass. Then his eyes would flick to yours, and you’d look away fast, hating that he caught you looking, yet feeling inexplicably thrilled by it too.  
  
How had you two gone from nothing to _something_ so freaking fast?  
  
You treaded through the social circles without coming too close to him. You could tell he wanted to talk, or more (the idea of "more" made your heart catapult from your ribs to your throat and back again). But you couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t entertain the idea seriously – it was _Sam_. You’d known each other for years and hung out and seen each other at your worst and… Where the hell was this attraction coming from all of a sudden? And so _strong?  
_  
Finally, you thought you might overheat, and had to take a second to splash some water on your face. You excused yourself from chatting with Joe, and bee-lined for the bathroom, just off the living room, which was blissfully unoccupied. You elbowed the door to close and dashed to the sink, splashing cold water on your face. The door didn’t quite latch behind you and when you looked up, Sam opened it and came inside, letting the door fall almost closed behind him.  
  
“Sam…” you started, and didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your pulse throbbed in your fingers. You snatched up the hand towel and wiped your dripping face off.  
  
“Are we going to stop playing around, now?” he asked, his voice low and husky.  
  
You almost melted right there.  
  
“What?” you said, strangled.  
  
He pressed his hand to the door to close it fully, muting the party noises to a dull murmur. You couldn’t tell if you were breathing or not – you certainly were light-headed enough to _not_ be.  
  
“Tell me you don’t feel anything,” he said. “Tell me nothing's changed.”  
  
You looked at your hands, twisting in front of you. “I don’t feel anything,” you said quickly. “Nothing's changed. We're only friends.”

_Liar, liar, liar..._  
  
“C’mon.” He took a few steps towards you, so his boots came into view.  
  
“I don’t feel anything,” you repeated, turning your head to face the sink instead.  
  
He stepped closer. A hands-breadth away from you. “Look me in the eye and say it,” he said quietly.  
  
It took several seconds for you to gather the strength to look up at him. Your breathing fluttered, your hands got sweaty, but you made yourself look at him. At his eyes, his hair, his face. You bit your lip and forced away the idea of _him_ biting it instead.  
  
“I don’t…” you started, firm, until it the next word disappeared in your throat somewhere. He got a little triumphant glint in his eye which spurred you to try again. “I _don’t_ feel…”  
  
You couldn’t get the words out and you both knew exactly why.

_Liar._  
  
He leaned in and kissed you. Gentle for a second, then harder, pushing and needy, but you responded right back without an instant of hesitation. You wrapped your arms up around his neck and he encircled you with his, tugging you close. He was so tall, he leaned down to kiss you and you popped to your tippy-toes trying to reach him better.  
  
His arms snaked under your butt and he hefted you up. You broke contact with a startled gasp, but he had you, wonderfully secure, and you crashed your lips against his again. He pressed your back against the wall and kissed you deeper. You got lost in the sensation of Sam Winchester, of his touch, of the fire that raced all over and through you.

* * *

_Dean:_  
  
Dean climbed the steps with some trepidation. He'd never really met any of Sam's Stanford friends, and he didn't belong at their party. But Sam had asked him to come - "Please, just show up for once," he'd almost begged last week on the phone - and Ethan had said the more, the merrier, and meant it because he was just that kind of a guy. Dean stopped at the door and squared his shoulders.

_Five months._ It had to be enough. It  _had_ to be. He could do this, he could be just a friend, he could be completely normal. He could.

He pushed open the door and went inside. He passed through the foyer and straight into the kitchen/dining room bearing beer, and everyone _hallo_ ed and cheered and _heeeeyyyy_ ’ed him inside. Dean grinned, warmth blooming in his chest for these strangers who were actually excited to have someone new in the mix. He surrepticiously scrubbed his hand on his jeans, worried he might still have traces of dead vamp blood there, before he waved hello back. He set the beer on the counter and started making the rounds, shaking hands and clapping backs, exchanging _hi I'm Sam's brother_ and _how are you_ ’s with the sober, the tipsy, the drunk, and the almost-drunk.

His eyes flicked around the room, searching, distracted in his greetings while he looked. But he didn't see her.  
  
Dean stepped into the living room, somewhat apprehensive and nervous, but eager and hopeful, too.

_Five months, five months,_ he repeated in his head.

His shoulders sagged when he realized she wasn’t there. He still put on a genuine smile to say hi to more new people, but shortly begged off to go grab himself a beer. He hovered by the dining room games table for a bit, offering Joe and Ethan advice for the poker game they were attempting, and he slowly forgot about his disappointment amongst all the other smiles and laughter.

He wondered where Sam was, though Ethan assured Dean he'd seen him just a second ago somewhere. Dean drifted back to the living room and hung out by the stereo, flipping through an ancient CD wallet, looking for some good tunes to add to the queue.  
  
The bathroom door opened and he looked up inadvertently at the movement. His heart jumped when he saw her coming out – she _was_ here! – but it immediately faltered when he properly _saw_ her. She glanced uncomfortably side to side, as if worried someone would notice her leaving the bathroom, and she fussily smoothed at her hair and tugged at her clothes. His stomach clenched. He’d seen enough people, _been_ those people enough times, to recognize a party hook-up when he saw one.  
  
She darted to the kitchen, not looking up.  
  
His heart didn’t just falter but it plummeted when Sam emerged only a moment later. Dean took a big swig of his beer and turned away, unable to face either of them while his gut churned. This is what he expected, but it hurt way more than he knew it should have. Maybe he shouldn’t have left.

Or, more properly, he shouldn’t have come back.

* * *

_You:  
_  
You swept into the kitchen.

“Hey!” you said brightly – too brightly, but hopefully everyone was too inebriated to notice. “How’s it going? Who’s winning?”  
  
Sam squeezed into the room and rounded the table, taking the long way to the kitchen island laden with food, careful not to touch you, though you could feel his presence as strong as if he had. Your cheeks were still hot and flushed, your lips puffy, but you were sure everyone would assume it was from drinks.  
  
“Hey!” said Ethan, grinning only somewhat sloppily, well on his way to drunk. “There you are! You just missed him – Dean’s here!”  
  
Your pulse skittered. “He is? Where?”  
  
“Think he’s in there,” said Ethan, pointing to the living room and nearly taking out Joe in the process.  
  
You laughed and hurried for the living room but stopped short at the threshold, guilt flashing through you in hot and cold waves. _I just made out with Sam_.  
  
You’d been in love Dean for years, and the Sam thing was literally brand new, and now here was Dean. _Here._

_Wow, timing._  

You buried the guilt as hard and as fast you could. Dean didn’t know, and didn’t _need_ to know about Sam. You’d deal with that later. For now, you had to see him - you hadn't seen him in five months and you were desperate to lay your eyes on him, trace over every perfect and flawed line of his face, drink in his eyes, his smell, his everything.  
  
When you saw him, you immediately felt the usual rush and thrill. You couldn’t _wait_ to talk to him, to tell him everything that’d happened since you’d last seen him, all the jobs and hunts and cases, and ask him about his, and just be _near_ him again –  
  
When his eyes found you, he clenched his jaw and turned away, sipping his beer. He looked stony and hurt and you shivered, almost wanting to burst into tears right then and there. He knew. Somehow, he already knew about Sam. You swallowed and approached him anyways. You had to.  
  
“Hey Dean,” you said, smiling.  
  
“Hey,” he grunted, avoiding your gaze, and you thought you might crack apart.  
  
You wanted to cry out apologies, but what did you have to be sorry for? He left. He left and didn’t come back and he didn’t know how you felt, so he couldn’t be mad about Sam and you, which only just happened and –  
  
You took a shaky breath and kept your smile hitched on. “It’s been a long time. How are you? I missed you.”  
  
He snorted at that, barely making eye contact with you. “Not that much, I see.” He nodded at Sam, across the room with his back to you as he relayed some funny story to other guests.  
  
You wanted to protest, but there was no doubt you still looked like you’d just had a frantic makeout session in the bathroom. There was no denying it.  
  
“I…we only kissed,” you said weakly.  
  
He cocked his head at you, not believing it at all.  
  
“Made out,” you amended, and felt a flash of hot anger when he still held that disbelieving expression. He couldn’t think you did _more_? “Tonight,” you emphasized sharply.  
  
He just shook his head and drank his beer.  
  
You didn’t know what to say. All you wanted to do was cry. Five months of never seeing him, only hearing about what he was up to through Sam, and now this?

You swallowed and desperately searched for words. Dean scrubbed his thumbnail over his beer label, creating jagged little rips. The silence stretched horribly. It was like you two were on some terrible little island, away from everyone else who was having a wonderful time, laughing and drinking and carefree, and there you stood at the edge of the room, so removed and miserable and unable to speak.  
  
Dean reached for a life raft first. “Well, this has been fun,” he said flatly, coldly, moving to walk away.  
  
“I love you.” It came flying out of your mouth without thought or consideration, and low enough under the music that he probably didn’t hear it.  
  
But he froze and his expression changed, something unreadable, as he stopped and looked at you. You pressed your lips together, wishing you could take it back and pull the words back in. But the damage was done.  
  
“Why…why didn’t you…” He shook his head and raked his hand through his hair. You couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or angry or something else.  
  
You suddenly couldn’t bear it – any of it. The mess you’d created, then made literally a thousand times bigger. You couldn’t stand there crumbling in front of Dean, the one you’d impossibly loved for years on end, and you couldn’t stand there with lips still bruised from making out with Sam, who you had no real idea how you felt about anyways, and you just couldn’t _stand there.  
_  
You shoved past Dean, and pushed past the other partiers, offering up hasty _excuse me_ ’s without sparing a second to look at anyone or slow down. You almost took Ethan out in the dining room as he went from the kitchen to the table with an armload of drinks.  
  
“Whoa, whoa!” he shouted, twisting but miraculously not quite spilling.  
  
“Sorry!” you yelped over your shoulder and bolted for the door. You stumbled over the piles of everyone’s shoes in the foyer, then flung open the front door, yanking it shut behind you. You made it to the bottom of the steps, gulping in the chilly night air that was literal bliss against your overheated skin.  
  
“Hey,” Dean’s voice – normally the best thing you ever listened to – came from behind you and you’d never wanted to hear anything less. “Hold _on._ ”

“Leave me alone,” you snapped at him. You pressed your hands to your watering eyes, wanting nothing more than for this night to be over. He pounded down the stone steps and came to stand in front of you.  
  
“How long has this been going on?” he demanded.  
  
You shook your head and dropped your hands. “Which part?” you asked, your voice wobbling with emotion. “I told you - me and Sam… _just_ happened. I don't know what it is.”

“No, I…” Dean looked taken aback by your emotion but quickly covered it. “You _love_ me?”  
  
You nodded, holding your lips together. You took a breath, tamping down your tears as well as you could. Thankfully, your voice was way steadier when you spoke next.  
  
“When did I meet you?” you said. “Like to the day, exactly.”  
  
He shrugged. “I think it was…four years ago.” When you gestured for him to go on, he added, “Four years, one month, and what? Like, four days?”  
  
You exhaled and dashed your hand over your eyes to dry them. “It’s been going on for four years, one month, and probably like, three days.” At this point, you figured you might as well admit it. You’d fallen for him almost at first sight and been in perpetual agony ever since.  
  
His lips parted in shock and he shoved his hand through his hair again. “Shit. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” he demanded.  
  
You huffed a humorless laugh. “Seriously? How could I possibly tell you?”  
  
“What's that supposed to mean? I would’ve listened…”  
  
“No, you wouldn’t have,” you told him. “I couldn’t have told you. You, King of the One Night Stands. You, who’s pretty much a borderline functioning alcoholic, who carries the guilt of the world when he absolutely doesn’t need to. I wasn’t going to be another problem for you to not deal with.”  
  
You were being harsh, but you were too mixed up and hurting to really notice. Besides, it wasn’t exactly the first time Sam or you had called him out on any of those things, though doing them all at once during a love declaration was probably especially not cool.  
  
Dean’s brow furrowed with frustration. “Well, if I’m such a damn disaster, why do you apparently love me, then, huh?”  
  
You hoped he read your classic _are you really this stupid_ look loud and clear.

“Because!” you threw your hands in the air and sucked in a sharp breath, marshaling your thoughts. “Because you’re also amazing. You’re funny and brilliant – smart, so much smarter than you think you are – and desperately, incredibly loyal, and passionate and gorgeous and the way you smile knocks me down. And you’re brave and strong and you care, so _damn_ much, and you…”  
  
Something warred behind his eyes as you spoke and you wished you could know what he was thinking. Mostly, you hoped he could truly hear the good things you were saying. He always internalized the bad and brushed off the good.  
  
“And how could I not love you?” you finished in a whisper.  
  
You held his conflicted gaze, his stunning green eyes, for a few seconds before you had to look away, consumed with the fool you were making of yourself. It was so much easier to add the next part if you didn’t have to face him.  
  
“I don’t know what happened with Sam tonight. But this was the first and only time.” You exhaled. “Trust me. I…I haven’t stopped loving you, for a single, agonizing second. No matter how much easier my life would be if I did.”  
  
The white noise of the city going about its night filled your ears. You stared at the pavement and curled your fingers into fists so you could press your nails against your palm, wiling yourself not to cry. You had no idea where to go from here.  
  
A siren sounded in the distance, breaking you out your miserable, thoughtless limbo. You looked up at Dean, his jaw clenched.  
  
“Well. Anyways,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say. “I’m getting cold.” You made to walk past him, back to the house.  
  
His arm caught you around the waist. You gasped a little in surprise and then he was _kissing you_. Dean kissed you, softly, sweetly, achingly, deeply, longingly. You kissed him back and the world disappeared. And just as suddenly as he’d started the kiss, he broke it off and backed up.  
  
“I’ve got to go,” he mumbled, this time pushing past you towards the parking lot.  
  
“Dean…” You watched him go, at a loss, your limbs tingling, your lips throbbing.  
  
He climbed into the Impala and fired it up. He peeled out of the parking lot and roared down the street. Your vision blurred and then you couldn’t make out the car anymore, so you covered your eyes with your hands and cried.

* * *

_Sam:  
_  
She’d been gone a good few minutes and Sam could see her coat still hanging in the foyer. He frowned and wondered if he should grab it. He didn’t know what was going on with her and Dean, only that she’d rushed outside and he’d followed in a hurry, looking stressed. He’d had half a mind to follow, but given that she and Dean seemed to fight pretty well every time Dean came back, he figured giving them space was a better option. It was probably a big part of why Dean's absences had gotten longer and longer the past year or two, but whenever Sam tried to ask Dean about it, Dean shut down and changed the subject.  
  
He slurped his beer and watched Ethan win another hand, then Sam glanced at the door. He’d just take her her coat, and come back in. He didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was up with them, though he had an ugly sinking feeling he already had. She'd never admitted it outright, but he knew she had feelings for Dean, and he often wondered if Dean had some for her too. Though given the past few days, he thought she was over it.

Sam set his beer down and slipped into the foyer, grabbing up her army green jacket. He opened the door but stopped when he heard Dean growl out,  
  
“Well, if I’m such a damn disaster, why do you apparently love me, then, huh?”  
  
Sam hastily shut the door, careful not to make noise as he did so. He didn’t want them to think he was eavesdropping. He looked at the coat, his heart sinking lower and lower in his chest. She didn’t really want _him_ , then. She’d certainly _seemed_ to want him the past couple days, and in the bathroom…  
  
Was it just that she was lonely and he was a convenient pair of lips? No, she wasn’t that type of person. He’d thought the past several months that she’d seemed over her crush on Dean. He’d also been on his longest absence yet, so maybe that was part of it. Sam would've never have acted on his own burgeoning feelings for her if he'd known she  _loved_ Dean.   
  
He scrubbed his hand over his face. Then again, feelings or not, they shouldn’t have been messing around if she wasn’t serious. He’d certainly kissed her with the intention of something serious, but now…

Sam tugged open the door again, not fully sure what he was going to do or say to either of them, when he saw Dean’s car rumbling out of the lot and onto the road. It zoomed out of sight.  
  
Sam looked at her, alone on the sidewalk, hands over her eyes, shoulders shaking. His previous irritation disappeared instantly. Above all, she was his friend, and though something else  _had_ changed, that had not.

* * *

_Dean:_  
   
Dean looked at her image in the rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller. She covered her face and Dean had never felt more like trash in his entire life. He was purposefully breaking her heart – and his. Never mind that he had reasons.  
  
“Damn it,” he mumbled, and again, and smacked his fist against the dash, getting louder and hitting harder. “Damn it, damn it, _damn it!_ ” He hissed and shook his fist, stinging from slamming the dash.  
  
He rounded the corner and pulled over into an empty spot, ignoring the horn he received from the car behind him for the erratic manoeuvre. Dean touched his forehead to the steering wheel.

_Why now? Why me?_  
  
Never mind that he’d fallen for her two years ago. Her smile, her laugh, the way she could take out a vamp one-handed like a pro. Her kindness, her goodness, despite all the horror and crap that came with the hunter's life.

Never mind that he hadn’t guessed she loved him back, had from the minute she met him. He'd thought she was being his friend, that she liked him no more than she liked Sam. Sure, she smiled at him a lot and her eyes sparkled and she lit up when he came back from a hunt without her. But that was who she was. Not… it hadn't been…

Never mind for two years he’d been making up stories of one night stands because he couldn’t _actually_ have one while hopelessly in love with her. He'd tried - but being with some random bar girl had just made him ache miserably to be with  _her_. And he couldn't be with her. So he stopped sleeping with other women and he fell asleep picturing _her_  sleeping in the bed beside him, and when she asked who last night's lucky girl was, he lied. It was so, so much easier that way.

He wasn’t worth her love, or anyone’s. It was better to let her think he was carelessly sleeping with random bar women, better to suffer in silence, better to keep going on long hunts and letting Sam take care of her. Sam was good at taking care of people and Dean could get over her this way, and it was just _easier_ being unworthy. His life was hard enough as it was, and he'd already been burned by so many complicated relationships, he wasn't going to start up another one doomed to fail.   
  
After all the things he’d done, after everything… he couldn’t ever be good enough for her. So there was no point trying, no point being anything other than a friend. He loved her too much to drag her into his issues and his mess and let her truly see all his raw, ragged edges.  
  
So, he was walking away, leaving her behind. It hurt now – it _killed_ , knowing she’d loved him and his mess anyways – but it was better this way. It _would be._ She was, truly, better off without him.   
  
She’d hooked with Sam – that was inevitable. Sam was _good_ and she deserved _good_. He wasn’t furious with her for going to Sam, nor with Sam for kissing her, too (honestly, it was about time - she was beautiful and fantastic and deserved to be kissed). Dean  _was_ furious with himself, because even after all this time and effort and talking himself out of loving her and talking himself into believing she was better off without him, he _still_ loved her and it still sliced him to ribbons to know she was with someone else, even Sam.  
  
Hearing her assure him that she loved him, hearing her just _say_ that she loved him… Dean pressed his palms against his eyelids. _No._ But he wasn’t worthy and he would never be. He couldn't accept her love. He couldn't destroy her with his darkness. He wouldn't.  
  
He hadn’t meant to kiss her, to make it worse, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He needed to know, just once, how she tasted. He needed to say goodbye.

He didn’t know if she realized that kiss _was_ goodbye.

He’d stay away longer this time – let Sam nurse her through her broken heart, and maybe their relationship could grow, with him far out of the picture. It’d be easier, he was _sure_ , if he came back and she was officially with Sam. Over him. Then she’d be off the table and he could truly move on.  
  
Dean opened his eyes. “Damn it,” he croaked, and thought he could hear the pieces of his heart spilling onto the car's floor.  
 

* * *

_You:  
_  
When you dropped your hands and turned towards the house, Sam stood in the doorway with your coat. A fresh wave of tears spilled onto your wet cheeks.  
  
“Sam…” your started, lips trembling. If he saw anything that had just happened with Dean, he was probably angry and hurt and deservedly so. You never, ever meant to use him, but how could it look like you'd done anything else?  
  
He pulled the door shut and hurried down the steps to meet you.  
  
“I thought you’d be cold,” he said, and wrapped your coat over your shoulders.  
  
You couldn’t have felt worse than you did in that moment. Your heart was crushed from your conversation with Dean, and here was Sam, being eternally sweet when he should have been upset with you. Instead, as you cried, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I didn’t know you loved him.”  
  
You cried into his shirt and he rubbed your back.  
  
“I’m so, so sorry.”


End file.
